Tom was sitting up in his chair, tense. She wondered vaguely why he did not seem relieved at her words.
“It is the mail,” she cried, after a moment. She opened the door a little and stood looking out.
The boy started from his chair, standing upon his injured ankle without thought of it. “He may stop, Beth. He mustn’t see me here. It wouldn’t look right, don’t you see—it—”
She wheeled on him sharply. “He isn’t going to stop,” she said. Then she flung the door wide open and stepping outside, waved her hand to the passing rider on the trail below.
“Sit down, Tom.” She came back into the room and closed the door. “You mustn’t stand on that ankle.”
He sank back into the chair, his face white. “God!” he exclaimed, “I shouldn’t be up here with you alone tonight after—after what—”
Beth sat down again beside him. The thoughts that came to her mind frightened her. She tried to dispel them, but couldn’t. She put her hand upon his arm.
“I’m glad you’ve struck it, Tom,” she said. “I knew you would. And some time—”
“I’m going to have you for my wife,” he finished. “And take you back East, maybe, where you belong.”
Suddenly he flung his arms about her again and kissed her upon the lips roughly. “It’s the right thing—the right thing, Beth.” He repeated the words a little bitterly.